


The Halloween Orange Gas Affair

by svetlanacat4



Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen, Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 05:26:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svetlanacat4/pseuds/svetlanacat4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two huge wooden boxes, two UNCLE agents... Villains, Orange Gas, and Halloween!<br/>Answer to the 2011 Halloween Challenge on MFU scrapbook, art prompt by Togsos</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Halloween Orange Gas Affair

This is the extraordinary prompt offered by the so talented Togsos...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There was no way to be certain as he couldn't leave the room but he had learned for years to trust his instinct. Something – he didn't figure out what – didn't look right. He glanced along the walls of the corridor and shut the door, locking it carefully.  
“Feel a bit nervous?”  
The ironical voice gave him a start which he couldn't suppress. Though, the man sneered mockingly.  
“Enjoy yourself, Kuryakin, enjoy yourself...” He hissed, looking at the two huge wooden boxes. “He who laughs last laughs best...”, he whispered at the hole. Grabbing a dusty blanket, he threw it over the box.

 

***

Illya Kuryakin didn't feel like laughing, anyway. He had peeped through the air hole and noticed the other box. Napoleon was there. The Russian forced himself to breathe slowly. Napoleon was there but he didn't react. He didn't take the opportunity of letting his partner know about him. The cloud of orange smoke had blocked their path out of the laboratory. It had started moving on its own will, following them, stopping, approaching maliciously. It didn't curl, twirl nor fade. It had played with them until orange tentacles had taken hold of them. Illya bit his lips at the scaring memory of his partner passing out, strangled, smothered mercilessly by some orange claws. Then he had realized that he couldn't breathe, either. Later he had woken up in this box. They had been captured and caged like animals. This man was obviously waiting for people to help him with his hunting trophies. Was Napoleon doing well?

 

***

He was annoyed beyond any logic. His superior would be happy – and grateful, he hoped – with the two birthday gifts he had managed to get, thanks to the Doctor Eerie's gas. Everything was going beautifully but he felt annoyed, worried, puzzled...He didn’t know why. A familiar signal behind the door brought him relief. Company would prevent him from brooding on... nothing.

 

***

Being of the small kind could be useful. Illya had managed to toss and tun in the box until he could peep out through another hole at the bottom of his prison.

 

***

“Eerie! Nice to have you here. Everything okay, outside?”  
“Of course! Want a candy?”  
“A candy?”  
“ Halloween! Kids are running for candies and two of them were...” The man sneered maliciously. “... nicely scared enough to let me have their bags! Which do you prefer? Jellybeans? Mints? Toffees?”  
“No, thank you. What about the others?”  
“Will be here in about one hour. Easy, man, easy! Our guest, how are they doing?”  
“I covered the Russian songbird's cage! Solo's still unconscious.”

 

***

He couldn't see the men, just their feet. Two brown shoes, two black ones. And red socks. Napoleon was alive… Unconscious, but alive.

 

***

“You checked this door two minutes ago! What happens again?”  
He didn't know. The bad feeling didn't fade. Someone knocked at the door and he froze. Suddenly a croaking voice yelled outside “Trick or treat! Trick or treat!”  
He barked ruthlessly.  
“Get away, brats!”  
There was a strange rumbling outside before the voice croaked again.  
“Trick or treat! Trick or treat!”  
The man harrumphed.  
“I told you...”  
“Shhh... Easy! They're going to get the whole street out. Let me do. I'm good at calming kids down.”  
Illya Kuryakin cursed at the Halloween stuff. Those bastards wouldn't bother with children. Eerie was true evil.  
“Trick or treat! Trick or treat!”  
The voice was repeating the litany relentlessly. The black shoes stepped to the door which half opened.  
“What...” The threatening voice fell silent all of a sudden.  
“Eerie? What's wrong?”  
“Trick … or treat?”  
No more croaking.  
Three words ironically articulated.  
A deafening blast.  
 Boom!  
A burst of sparks.  
As the smoke drifted away, Illya Kuryakin spotted first a red socks and three shoes.Then, legs. Bodies on the floor. What the hell...?  
“You cheated! It’s against the rules!”  
The Russian froze. He knew this slightly accented voice. He knew it very well for it was… his own voice… Through the last whirls of smoke, two small silhouettes materialized, wearing strange capes with hoods, one gray and the other black. They had masks, ghost masks. One of them was waving what looked like to be... explosive. He put out the fuse.  
“You didn't let him choose! That's unfair.”  
The second one chuckled ironically.  
“You're just mad because I blasted them first, that's all! Where are our guys?”  
“In the boxes, I guess.”  
Illya Kuryakin was puzzled. The small “ghosts” had turned to his cage. They weren't kids. They wore strange clothes and – he gasped – two very familiar yellow triangles.  
No. It was the gas.  
It was just hallucination.  
One of the creature was stepping towards him, hissing impatiently.  
“I'm stifling in here. Let's take the masks away!”  
Suddenly a face appeared just in front of the Uncle agent: strange face – adorable, he thought stupidly – dark locks, huge expressive hazel eyes looking at him, no nose and no mouth.  
“Hey, you, are you okay?”  
Illya knew the gentle tone. He knew those warm eyes, the way the creature was tilting his head...  
“I'm... I'm fine.”  
He bit his lips: he was talking to ... something straight out of his imagination but the small creature smiled despite of the lack of mouth.  
“Good.”

 

***

Something had exploded. A pungent smell caused him to choke. Where was he? Who was hammering away at... At what?  
Eerie. The orange gas  
Still the hammering echoing all around. And a voice, a very well known voice.  
“Are you fine? Hey, answer me!”  
Napoleon Solo cursed as he banged his head against a wooden partition. A box. He was caged in a wooden box. There was a hole above him. Illya was hammering relentlessly. Couldn't he force this open and stop yelling at him? Napoleon managed to kneel upright and peeped out.  
“Il...”  
He choked.  
Blond disheveled locks. Huge crystal blue eyes which instantaneously frowned at him in a very familiar way. But this... This wasn't Illya. It... He had no nose, no mouth. Though,  -the dark haired man could have sworn it...- he was pouting. This... wasn't his Illya.  
“Couldn't you answer? How are you doing?”  
The voice, the tone were familiar, too, scolding with a hint of relief. It wasn't Illya. It couldn't.  
A big screwdriver was suddenly held to him through the hole. The small creature shook his head in dismay, pursing his – cute, he thought stupidly – face.  
“Take this and hurry to get out. Their friends are on their way!”

 

***

This was absolutely disconcerting. Illya Kuryakin heard his own voice telling his own lines. The second small ... creature was talking to his partner. At the very moment, the hazel eyed thing was rolling his eyes in a very Napoleon manner.  
“This is a tire iron. You'd manage to get out with this. As he said – eyes rolled again – you'd have better to hurry. Oh...” A small cylinder followed the tire iron. “This is the gas formula. See you soon, sweetheart...”  
Sweetheart? The hazel eyes winked at him and the creature put on back his ghost mask. Illya whispered an incredulous “Thank you...”  
The two small ghosts stepped out and the last thing Illya heard was himself saying “You'll notice that HE thanked us!”

 

***

The two Uncle agents leaned back against the wall, staring at the bodies on the floor. Six bodies. The four villains they had shot with the sleep dart guns which were left on the table and the two other men they had found lying there.  The evil Doctor Eerie and another Thrush bastard.  
Why? How? Who?  
They kept silent for awhile until Napoleon cleared his throat.  
“This gas... it has strange effects. I can't remember what happened with Eerie. There was an explosion. Did you...?”  
Illya Kuryakin sighed.  
“They were talking. Kids came and yelled “Trick or treat!” He paused. “They opened the door and there was an explosion. And...” He stopped again.  
“And?”  
Illya hesitated.  
“I saw... I saw two strange little creatures with capes, hoods and ghost masks. They had... yellow triangles. One of them talked to me... It had... He had...”  
“Huge blue eyes, blond hair, a slight accent...” Napoleon completed.  
Illya shook his head.  
“I heard the one who had ... my voice. Mine had...” He hesitated again. “ Mine had huge warm hazel eyes, and your voice. He had no nose...”  
“And no mouth.” Napoleon completed again.  
The dark haired agent tapped his partner on his shoulder.  
“Well, luckily you managed to get the formula. This gas is scaring...”  
Illya Kuryakin smiled thoughtfully. He had managed... Had he really?  
“Perhaps we'll pass over this episode in our report...”

 

***

Section 3 had cleaned up the place. They were waiting for the two section 2 agents to join them.  
Napoleon Solo stepped out enjoying the breeze and the distant sounds of the Halloween night.  _The Halloween Orange Gas Affair_... He chuckled but noticed that Illya wasn't there.  
“Illya?”  
The Russian stood in the alley, bent over the bush. He picked up something black.  
It was... a cape. A small black cape. Napoleon froze.  
Illya folded it carefully and held it out to his partner who shook his head.  
“No, Illya. No. This is a kid's costume. Someone lost it there and…”  
Illya put his hand on his friend's stomach with a dreamy smile.  
“The Napoleon creature had a delightful little round tummy...” The hand slid down imperceptibly. “Happy Halloween, Napoleon...”


End file.
